


What do you MEAN you're supposed to replace yeast annually?

by rosamund_bright



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Apologies, Cinnamon rolls, Fluff, Gen, M/M, OOC in the sense that Jon tries to make amends for his emotional failings via baked goods, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Season/Series 01, just some sweet archive squad bonding in the morning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:54:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24416983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosamund_bright/pseuds/rosamund_bright
Summary: Jon lost his temper yesterday. Today, he attempts an apology. At first this doesn't go very well, but then, it does.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 8
Kudos: 123





	What do you MEAN you're supposed to replace yeast annually?

**Author's Note:**

> First ever fic, unedited, unbetaed, I literally did not reread it before posting. I should be doing anything else, truly just here for a laff

Jon stood in his tiny kitchen and thought, _I have made a terrible mistake._

Granted, Jon was not a man known for his strong decision-making skills. When he thought about it, he was pretty sure that he should instead be known for making absolutely terrible decisions, and then being bullied into fixing them by Georgie. His life-long dedication to two-in-one shampoo, his smoking habit, his refusal to acknowledge mistakes; all of these were afflictions that she had goaded him out of with a combination of gentle mockery, constant encouragement, and eventually the judicious application of soft kisses whenever he did well. Mostly, anyway. Her methods had turned out to be less effective in the long term, but that didn’t mean Jon had entirely given up on growth and change. He just took it slower when he was on his own. 

Which was all to say that Jon was standing in his kitchen, hands covered in sticky bread dough, with the timer on his phone ringing and a pan of burning sugar and butter on the hob next to him. _Why have I done this,_ he thought, trying to turn the knob with his wrists so that there at least wouldn’t be fire involved in this utter disaster of an evening. After brushing one of his fingers against the hot pan for his efforts, he gave up and just turned of the hob with his fingers, leaving dough and stickiness behind. Inevitably, he knew, he was going to forget about it, and the next time he tried to make food for himself he was going to be surprised and disgusted by the dried floury residue. A fitting punishment, he supposed, for thinking it was reasonable to try to make _cinnamon rolls,_ of all things, when he hadn’t actually baked anything since uni. 

He knew why he’d chosen them, of course. Whenever Georgie had needed to apologize to someone, or if there was something to celebrate, they were her go-to baked good. And once, when he had accidentally ignored her for two weeks because of a particularly finnicky paper he’d done on metrical conventions in early modern English theatre, he’d tried to make them to help with his own apology. She’d explained that a homemade gift was always especially good for when the thing you really needed to fix was a long-term change—when you couldn’t quickly demonstrate that you were wrong and going to be better in a day. The cinnamon rolls were a marker of the beginning of the process of acting right in the future, and the actual gift of sweet bread didn’t hurt either. He’d mucked up that batch too, and had been utterly horrified when Georgie showed up at his door to find him despairing over a pan of unfluffy, burned-on-the-outside and raw-on-the-inside awfulness. He’d been in the middle of trying to decide if it would make his situation worse to usher her out the door and avoid her until he managed a better batch when she’d spied the cinnamon and other ingredients on the counter behind him. 

Once she figured out what he was trying to do, she thought it was hilarious. She also helped him make a new batch that was actually edible, and the rest of that night had been full of love and forgiveness and cinnamon. Which had gone a long way in convincing Jon that cinnamon rolls were paramount apology food. 

Apology food which he was, evidently, not going to get to make before heading in to work the next day. Unless he tried again and stayed up into the night waiting for the dough to rise—but, no, he didn’t have enough flour left. He could run to the shops, but it was late enough as it was. He’d just have to get up a little early the next day and pick up something from a café. He only had three assistants, after all. He didn’t need a _whole_ batch of cinnamon rolls for just the three of them. 

He dumped the ruined dough into the trash, washed his hands, and went to bed. 

***

Morning found Jon standing in the Archives break room, early as usual, trying to decide if he was going to just leave the box of scones he’d bought that morning on the table and let it do the talking, or if he was going to take it with him into his office and come out with scones and an actual apology later. The part of him that knew about social relations was telling him to do the scones another time, maybe after he’d done the talking, make sure they were linked with his goodwill in the minds of his assistants, but the part of him that was deeply uncomfortable with saying sincere things in a professional environment was _really_ pushing for leaving the scones and never speaking of them again. 

He didn’t get to decide, however, because at the moment Martin walked into the breakroom at what was, for him, and uncharacteristically early time. Martin saw Jon standing there and froze in the doorway. 

“Oh! I’m, um, sorry to bother you? If I’m bothering you, that is. I mean, I wasn’t trying to… well. Er, do you always get here this early? And, um, good morning, I suppose.”

“… good morning, Martin,” Jon said. He gently lowered the box of scones to the table and began to inch away from them. “Ah, yes, I usually do. To get my office in order. Before the day starts, you know.”

Martin smiled at him. “Always the boss, always working harder than the rest of us.”

Jon felt his ears get hot and hoped desperately it wasn’t visible behind his long hair. “Well, I’m not sure that’s… I. Well. I know you work very hard. All of you, I mean. Which is… would you like a scone?”

Martin blinked. “What?”

“A scone. I brought scones.”

Jon watched as Martin realized what the box on the table must be, and why Jon had been holding it. 

"I… sure, Jon,” said Martin. “I’d love to have a scone. Is there a special occasion?” 

Here was why Jon had wanted to retreat into his office. Here was the talking that was going to ruin him, and his reputation, and his whole day. And, worse, if he said it to Martin _now_ then he was going to have to say it to Tim and Sasha again _later_ when they got in. He took a deep breath. 

“Not as such, no,” he said. “I just… it occurred to me yesterday evening that I had been a bit. Harsh. With you and the others, regarding your work ethic, and I wanted to try to make amends.”

“So, scones?” Jon’s blush was not going down, and Martin’s smile was only getting bigger. Jon felt his mouth curving into a scowl. 

“So, scones. Cinnamon ones. And, now, I do actually have work that I need to be getting to,” he said, and turned around to flee the scene. 

“Wait!” called Martin, before Jon had the chance to get out the door. “Would you like to have one as well? With me, I mean. I’ll make us some tea. The workday hasn’t actually started yet, you know.”

Jon opened his mouth to refuse, but was interrupted by the entrance of Tim and Sasha. 

“Hello, Martin! And boss,” said Tim, and Sasha waved at the both of them. 

“Hi Tim, Sasha,” said Martin. Jon nodded stiffly at them. “Jon’s brought us some scones to make up for yesterday. I was just about to make some tea.”

“Aw, boss,” said Tim, and he immediately set about examining the baked goods. “Too kind to us.”

“Well, not always,” said Jon. He winced. “I mean. I suppose I mean to say that I know I wasn’t especially polite, yesterday. So I apologize. To all of you.”

He met each of their eyes, Martin grinning happily at him, Tim his usual cheerful self, and Sasha looking kind but at a professional remove that frankly was much more comforting to him than anything else. 

Tim sat down with his selected scone, and Sasha went over to help Martin bring the mugs over to the little table at the center of the room. 

“Well then, come on,” said Tim. “Join us for Archives apology tea-and-scones. It’s an important part of the process.”

“Right,” said Jon. “Of course.”

He took his place gingerly at the table, allowing himself to relax by just a fraction. They’d accepted his offering, and everything was fine. They were all sitting together, colleagues, and no one was angry and no one was yelling, having scones and tea before the work day began. It seemed, he thought, a good way to make sure they all worked well together. Not too often, of course, but… perhaps he’d spend some time trying to figure out that cinnamon roll recipe after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi and let me know if you have any fluff requests because ya girl... does not want to do her school work
> 
> https://rosamund-bright.tumblr.com/


End file.
